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Except that Diane got a radical haircut. She’s been letting her hair grow because I like it long, but it’s been driving her nuts. I know she wanted it shorter, the way she’s had it most of her life, and I was selfish and stalled on giving her my blessing. I know she would never get it cut without my approval because she loves and respects me (most of the time).

So, today, after giving her some undeserved grief about it, which made me feel absolutely terrible, I sent her off to her barber with her knowing I was OK with whatever she wanted to do.

When she returned, she was a new person. The haircut it great, and she’s happy. Happy is the main part.

I loved her hair long, and I love her hair short, but, really, her hair isn’t a factor at all.